


Heart in My Hand

by roane



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:32:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1727852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had rules in place for a reason. The world around them has gone mad and Steve isn't sure of his place in it. They have a brainwashed assassin to catch and Sam's still healing from grief of his own. It's the worst possible time to fall in love, but Steve has always had a bad relationship with time and with timing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart in My Hand

It all started the day after Steve got out of the hospital. His apartment was still a crime scene, so he didn't argue when Sam insisted that he come home with him. Steve woke up early, no more able to sleep in Sam's guest room than he was at home. Same problem as always--nothing felt like home.

He checked the thick bandages wrapped around his midsection and then took them off. All that was left of the worst of his wounds was a shiny bright pink scar that would fade and maybe be gone within a week. Even so, he'd been lucky. By all rights, he should be dead. He'd gotten so used to the idea of his own death he wasn't sure what he was alive for yet.

Sam woke up before he could finish tying on his running shoes.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Steve didn't look up, just started tying the other shoe. "Going for a run, like I always do."

"Like hell you are," Sam said. "I didn't spend three days sitting by a hospital bed just so you could go bust something open trying to lap some other brother on the Mall."

"I'm fine, see?" He stood up and hoisted his t-shirt to show the nearly healed scar. As he tried to push past Sam, Sam grabbed his arm, fingers tight around his biceps.

"Just stop."

Steve could have broken free without even trying, but Sam's face stopped him. Sam didn't just look mad, he looked worried. They looked at each other, Steve trying for defiant but winding up sheepish, Sam just steady and calm, like always. Finally Sam let go of his arm, but neither of them looked away.

"What are you trying to do?" Sam asked quietly.

"I just wanted to go for a run." It was partly true. "I couldn't sleep."

Sam studied him for a long moment until Steve dropped his eyes. "I don't know what happened up there," Sam said, "but I can make a guess."

Steve lifted his chin and and set his jaw. "I got the job done."

"Maria told me you gave the order to fire while you were still on deck."

"Yeah, well, Maria talks too much," Steve said. He wished Sam would just let him go run, burn off some of this tension, run until he's as close to exhausted as he can get, and maybe get some decent sleep.

"Did you try to fight him?" Sam's voice was quiet.

"I got the job done," Steve repeated.

"You almost died, man."

"Maybe I wanted to." He knew that's what Sam was pushing to hear, but he didn't plan to say it out loud. Sam pulled him into a hug, not a one-armed manly hug, but a full-body, holding-on-like-you-mean-it hug. Steve wound up with his head resting on Sam's shoulder, and it felt a little like coming home for the first time since he woke up in SHIELD's phony recovery room in New York.

They parted and it just seemed natural to lift his hand and rest it against Sam's cheek, and then to lean in and kiss him. His mouth was warm and soft, with just a little tickle from his moustache and the faint hint of toothpaste.

Then Sam pulled away and Steve realized he'd made a mistake.

"I'm sorry--" he started to say at the same time that Sam started, "Steve, I--"

Steve pushed ahead. "That was inappropriate, I'm sorry."

Sam laughed and glanced away and back. "No, it's not that. Damn, Steve, you think I hadn't thought about it? You miss me flirting with you when you came to the VA?"

"I… guess I did," he said, putting his hands on his hips so he wouldn't reach out.

"Me and you, we have a lot of things to talk about," Sam said. "Lotta changes going on, stuff we're both dealing with." He gave Steve a crooked grin that made something in his chest ache and try to sing at the same time.

"So this… isn't a good time," Steve finished for him. Disappointment sat in the pit of his stomach like a lump of K-ration biscuit.

"Well." Sam leaned on his hands against the counter behind him. "The US government might be about to arrest us, turns out the Nazis never really went away, they just moved over here, and I suspect there's somebody around that you're worried about now."

"It wasn't like that," Steve said, maybe a little too quickly, but it _wasn't_.

"I never said it was, but you can't deny there's some unfinished business there."

"No, I can't."

Sam cracked a smile. "Are you sure it wasn't maybe a little like that?"

"That is," Steve took a breath, "more story than I think you want to hear right now."

#

So they had a few simple rules: Separate motel rooms. Avoid eye contact when possible. No touching, no not even if he had a cut after a fight and you have the urge to brush the blood away oh-so-gently. Especially not then.

Both of them were men of discipline, and they approached their search for Bucky like any other mission. There wasn't room for anything else. They got into scraps on a regular basis: remnants of HYDRA catching their scent and coming for some payback. The two of them fought side by side like a machine by now. Even without his wings, Sam was a fearsome opponent.

Down time they spent either considering their next move, or sometimes doing something harmless, like going to a movie or catching a game on TV in a bar somewhere (never in one of their rooms, not ever there).

The thing was, none of it was making any difference at all.

The more time Steve spent around Sam, the more he saw what a really good guy he was. Maybe he'd gotten too used to the likes of Tony Stark, Fury, and their ilk. Decent enough men once you scratched the surface, but not _good_. Not like Sam.

One of the hardest adjustments Steve had made to the modern age was how cynical everyone was. No one really believed in anything anymore, or trusted anything that seemed good. Steve had seen how war had hardened the men around him, hell, even him. So how did Sam come out of that with such essential goodness untouched? Sam could have been any of the men he'd known during the war, only better.

Sam was the kind of guy who would literally help a little old lady cross a street. "And they call _me_ a Boy Scout," Steve laughed, the first time it happened. After the second and third time, he just shook his head whenever they saw someone in need.

Maybe that was why he was so taken by him. Sure, Sam was easy to look at, but pretty people weren't hard to find. Good people, really deep-down good people were.

It hit him like a punch in the gut one morning as they were sitting in the type of greasy spoon diner Steve loved. He looked at Sam taking his first long swallow of coffee and thought, _I love him_.

Then he thought, _Damn it_.

#

Their path crisscrossed over most of the Eastern seaboard, following reports of a confused dark-haired man combined with police reports of sudden outbursts of violence, a string of unusual deaths. Once they followed a report of a guy screaming in Russian at passersby, but it turned out to be a homeless vet with dementia. Sam got in touch with the local VA hospital and wouldn't let it go until they found a place for him.

Once they were back at the motel, Sam said, "You seeing any pattern in some of the stuff we're seeing?" They were standing in the breezeway between their two rooms. "The deaths, I mean."

Steve shrugged, trying to look anywhere but at Sam. That was the norm these days. Natasha was right about a lot of things, not the least of which was that he was a terrible liar. If he spent too much time looking at Sam, or worse, letting Sam look him in the face, Sam would know everything. "It's seemed a little random to me."

"Are you reading anything that I've been handing you?"

"Some?" Focus wasn't coming easy to him, between worrying about Bucky and trying to remember that he and Sam were just friends. He had a sketchbook in his room full of half-finished sketches of Sam--smiling, laughing, looking thoughtful, flying--all trying to capture the full impact of who he was. He'd never be a good enough artist to manage. That was the kind of thing only God could manage, and that only once.

Sam made a disgusted noise. "Man. Come on." He grabbed Steve's arm and pulled. They reached Sam's room door, and Steve hesitated, but Sam kept pulling him over to the desk, letting the door swing shut behind them. "Look," he said.

The desk was littered with news clippings and notes about the incidents they'd been tracking. Steve sat down and started really reading, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from Sam standing near his back. "Wait. Are you saying--?"

"Yeah. Discounting a few incidents that might not be related, most of the attacks are on folks with SHIELD affiliations."

Steve sat back and rubbed his forehead. "But _which_ SHIELD, is the question."

The bed creaked, and Steve turned around to see Sam sitting on the foot of it, close enough that their knees almost touched. "I have a theory about that," Sam said.

"Yeah?" He shouldn't be here. They'd agreed. But Sam didn't seem bothered.

He paused as if he were choosing his words carefully, and Steve took advantage of the time to just watch him, the way his fingers turned his room key card over and over like he was going to do a magic trick with it. "He told you you were his mission, right?"

Steve could still feel every single blow that had landed on his face. The rest of the fight, getting shot, all of it was a blur, but he can remember looking up at Bucky through one eye swelling shut, watching his face even as blow after blow landed. He watched Bucky's face _change_. It changed and that's when he stopped throwing punches. Steve cleared his throat. "Yeah." He can feel the weight of Sam's gaze but doesn't meet his eyes.

"If that was still the case, he'd be coming after you," Sam said. "So I think he's going after them."

"HYDRA." It made sense. It's what Bucky would do, half-awake and in pain. He'd go after the cause. "If that's the case, why won't he let me help?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't expect Sam to reach out and touch his arm.

"Would he have let you before?"

Steve's shoulders slumped, because no, of course he wouldn't have. He'd have done just this: run off and tried to fix things himself.

"Do you need to tell me that story now?" Sam asked. Not 'will you tell me', not 'I want to hear it', but 'do you need to'. Steve's heart tightened in his chest.

"First thing is: we were never a couple. Not ever."

"You said." Sam's face was neutral.

"Maybe if things were different we might've been. He wasn't--isn't--like me." He couldn't sit still for this, so he stood and paced in the tiny aisle between the desk and the bed. "He knew I liked boys better than girls, hell, I think he knew it before I did. He didn't care, though. He stuck up for me. Even when people started saying he must be--like me, too." Steve smiled a little. "There was this cranky old biddy on my block, started yelling at us how we should be ashamed of ourselves. Buck yelled back that he'd be proud if I was his boyfriend, cause it'd mean he had a better man than her four husbands put together."

Sam smiled, but his eyes were sad. "You had it pretty rough."

"I had Bucky," Steve said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did. "Couple of times I think I might've died if he wasn't around. Back then, you read a signal wrong, make eyes at the wrong guy… could get you killed."

"Wish I could say it was entirely different now."

Steve looked at him, sitting on the foot of his bed. "I've heard the Army wasn't much better in your day than in mine."

"We did okay," was all Sam said.

Steve sat down in the chair, the pieces suddenly clicking into place. "Riley?" Sam gave him a lopsided shrug and a half-smile. "I'm sorry," Steve said.

"Me and you, we both paid a price," Sam said. "Did you love him?"

It was a simple question without a simple answer. Steve was surprised by the sudden sting in his eyes, and blinked hard against it. "Of course I did. He was my best friend. But it wasn't like--I mean, I didn't follow him around with cow eyes, if that's what you mean." He glanced at Sam and felt the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily. "Believe it or not, I don't sign up for lost causes."

"I think you got it backwards, Cap," Sam grinned. "You sign up for them, but they don't stay lost after that."

"I owe him, Sam. He saved me so many times. Now I have a chance to return the favor."

#

They got so close the next time. Using Sam's theory, they found a suspected HYDRA agent not far from Bucky's last known location. When they got to the man's place of business (a gun store and firing range that served as a source of weapons and training for years), his body was behind the counter, still bleeding.

"Shit," Sam said, crouching next to the body, being careful not to touch anything. He didn't check for a pulse. The man was obviously dead: his chest was an open red mass with no sign there had ever been a heart there. "He was just--"

A door over on the side flew open, and a wild-eyed man with an automatic rifle stepped through, spraying the room. Luckily Sam was crouched, but it was just a matter of a second before the man re-aimed. Steve had the shield on his arm before he thought about it, diving over the counter and in front of Sam, knocking him away from the body before taking up a covering position.

They moved together like dance partners. Steve held the shield while reaching for his pistol, meanwhile Sam knelt behind him and returned fire over his shoulders before ducking down.

They broke cover at the same time and the man got off one more burst before two shots caught him in the chest and sent him back through the door. Sam grunted in what sounded like pain but when Steve turned to look, he said "Go, clear it, I'm fine."

It took a lot of discipline not to look back, and a lot of trust in Sam. He rose and ran across the room in a half-crouch, shield in front of him. The door led to the range, vast and seemingly empty. He cleared it with his heart pounding in his ears. Bucky had been here, just a few moments before they got there, and whoever the man outside had been, he was the only one Bucky was interested in. There was no sign he'd come back here at all, especially given the survivor.

Well, former survivor. Steve felt a moment of guilt. The guy might not've even been HYDRA. He shelved the guilt and hurried back to check on Sam.

There was no sign of him in the main room, and Steve's heart lurched hard in his chest like it was going to knock him over. "Sam?" he hissed hearing sirens start to sound, getting closer.

"Out here." Sam was out the back door, leaning against the wall. He'd pulled gauze packs out of his kit and had them pressed to the top of his shoulder. "We gotta go before I bleed all over everything. I'd just as soon not leave my DNA here." He saw Steve's face. "Hey, if you faint at the sight of blood, I'm going to leave your ass lying in this alley."

"How bad is it?" Steve forced the words out, harsh-tasting in his mouth.

"Breathe, Cap, I'm not going to die, I promise." His face softened a little. "Come on. Get me back, and I'll let you hover while I put the bandage on."

They made it back to their motel and into Sam's room without getting arrested, mostly because Sam was doing a damn good job acting and looking like a guy who hadn't just gotten shot.

It was a testament to how worried he was that Steve's first or even second thought wasn't about being in Sam's motel room while Sam took off his shirt. He did hover while Sam checked out the wound in the mirror, his first aid kit laid out in front of him. Even Steve could see it wasn't much more than a deep scratch, and logic said there was nothing to worry about, but all he could keep thinking was how close that scratch was to Sam's heart, to his head, to his lungs. A few inches, that's all.

"What are we doing?" he blurted when Sam was putting away his kit. "You could have been killed."

Sam doesn't look surprised by his outburst, but turns around and leans against the dresser. "We're doing the job," he said steadily.

"Then what?" His feet moved without volition, bringing him face to face with Sam. "What if we never finish? What if we lose?" Steve searched Sam's face, looking for something, anything.

"Are you asking what we're waiting for?" Sam's voice was quiet. He looked Steve right in the eye and Steve couldn't have moved if he wanted to, caught by the depth and warmth and wanting to just wrap himself in it.

Steve licked his dry lips. "Yeah."

"Seems like not a whole lot has changed since we last talked," Sam said, but he was looking at Steve's mouth.

"It has for me." He wouldn't push farther by explaining, by telling Sam exactly how he felt. He took a deep breath. "There's always going to be something else going on--you'd think after going through a war, I'd know that." Steve reached out and took Sam's hand in his, focusing on the way their fingers twined while he tried to think of what to say. "I… don't have a lot of good things in my life right now. It seems stupid to push one of them away with both hands."

"Rogers." Steve looked up. "Shut up and kiss me already."

He probably had an idiotic grin on his face, but he couldn't help it. He leaned towards Sam who helped him in the rest of the way by wrapping a hand around the base of his skull and pulling him close. It didn't seem possible that a mouth could be as soft and warm as Sam's. Steve meant to make it a gentle kiss, but Sam's lips parted and he felt something break open inside him, liquid and heated and flooding through his veins. He caught Sam around the waist and pulled him in tight, letting his mouth slant across Sam's with all the hunger he'd been holding back.

Sam gave a little laugh that was part wince. "Hey Superman, I'm tough, but I'm not unbreakable." Steve realized he'd been holding maybe a little too tight.

"Sorry," he murmured, loosening his hold before kissing Sam again, starved for this, the feel of Sam's body against his, lean and curved with muscles that didn't come from a bottle, but from hard work and determination.

"Don't be that sorry," Sam muttered against his mouth, untucking Steve's t-shirt in the back and sliding his hands underneath. God his hands were so warm, everything about him was warm, how was that possible? He pulled back enough to finish the job of taking off his shirt and dove back in, wanting nothing more than to feel Sam's skin against his. He tried to figure out how to kiss him and touch every inch of exposed skin at the same time.

Sam laughed at him, dragging his lips to Steve's ear. "Easy. I'm not going anywhere. Except maybe that bed behind you."

Steve took a slow breath, trying not to groan. "It's been a while, okay?" Then Sam's mouth was on his neck, and he gave up trying to be quiet. He had to remember to watch his strength, pressing his fingers into the muscles of Sam's back while the uneven rasp of Sam's teeth on his neck threatened to make his knees buckle.

Sam made good on his promise and guided them back towards the bed. Steve's knees hit the edge of it and he sat down, pulling Sam into his lap. Sam's arms rested on his shoulders and Steve turned to press kisses against his biceps, moving up across his shoulder to his chest. He sprawled his hands across Sam's back, pulling him in to mouth up the broad line of his neck. Sam squirmed, then leaned in to take Steve's mouth again, curling his fingers up into Steve's scalp and sparking tiny shivers from the roots of his hair down his spine.

Sam made soft, murmuring sounds against Steve's mouth, little gasps that tasted like candy on Steve's tongue. He slid his hands down the smooth expanse of Sam's back and pushed the fingertips of one hand under the waistband of his jeans while the other hand moved to cup his ass, following and massaging the curve of it, urging his hips closer. Sam rocked against him, pressing the hard shape of his erection against Steve's belly. Steve was already so hard it hurt; they could probably just kiss and grind together like this and he'd come in his pants like a kid.

That's not what he wanted though. Steve wanted--he wanted everything. He picked up Sam from his lap without much effort and stood him on his feet. Sam laughed at being manhandled. "Damn, son."

"Sorry." Steve flashed him a grin but reached for his belt buckle. "This okay?"

"More than." Sam batted away his hands and undid his jeans, tugging them open and down, kicking out of them. His boxers tented in front, enough of a gap open to reveal enticing shadows that Steve couldn't help but reach for, tracing the outline of Sam's prick with his fingers. Sam groaned and shoved his boxers down and out of the way.

Steve forgot everything for a moment. Sam was beautiful. Beautiful like a marble statue of some sort of idealized masculine perfection, but in living breathing shades of brown and bronze and gold.

Sam laughed at him again. "What, you see something you like?"

"Yeah," Steve breathed. "A lot."

"You're not too bad yourself." Sam reached out a hand to him and pulled him to his feet, tugging him close to reach for his waistband. Sam kissed him while he unfastened his jeans and slipped his fingers inside, cupping his aching prick. Steve moaned into Sam's mouth, almost paralyzed with raw need. "There you are," Sam murmured, curling his fingers around him. "Come on, finish getting undressed."

By the time he'd gotten his clothes out of the way, his mind was a little clearer, although he couldn't stop tracing the lines of Sam's body with greedy eyes as he lay back on the bed. Sam crawled up next to him and caught him by the chin, lifting until their eyes met. "You gotta stop that, man," he teased. "You're making me feel like a steak or something."

"Well, I want to get my mouth around you, at least," Steve said, then laughed.

Sam laughed too, leaning in and nuzzling his neck. "'The public was shocked today to discover that Captain America has a dirty mind…'"

"No." Steve pressed his mouth to Sam's ear, running his tongue over his earlobe. "He doesn't, but I do." He ran his hand up Sam's thigh, smiling when Sam arched his hip to press his prick into Steve's hand. "I want to suck you."

"Hell, yes," Sam groaned.

Had he been so bold before? Before the war there was always a sense of fear: of getting caught, of someone finding out, hell, of the other guy changing his mind halfway through and giving you a beating. During the war, there wasn't time for much at all. After he came out of the ice, there were too many other things to think about. And for all that anonymous encounters between men was practically accepted now, that wasn't what Steve wanted. That was all he _could_ have before; he didn't want it now.

"What else do you want?" Sam said, bringing him back, biting at his shoulder. "Come on, tell me. I wanna hear you say it."

For the first time, Steve felt a sense of play, not just of need or want or lust but play. He made a low rumble in his chest to see how it would affect Sam. He twisted his hand in a slow even stroke, feeling Sam getting wet in his hand. "I want you to hold me down and fuck me."

"Goddamn, boy, you do have a dirty mouth." Sam's breathing was getting fast and shallow. "Yeah, I want that." He rolled to the side and lay back.

Steve knew an invitation when he saw one. Sam was spread out in front of him like the best gift he'd ever seen. He rose up on his knees and leaned over him, kissing his mouth once before trailing down to his chest, feeling the coarse, tight curls of his chest hair dragging against his lips. Sam clenched his hands in the bedspread, then moved one hand to Steve's hair. He leaned against that hand appreciatively before closing his mouth around one peaked nipple. Sam grunted, his body jerking and his hand tightening. "Does that mean stop, or go?" Steve asked, looking up.

"Go." Sam's eyes were screwed shut, his head tilted back.

Steve did, playing with his tongue, wanting to see what got the biggest reaction from Sam. He smoothed his hands down Sam's flanks, resting on his hips, trailing his thumbs over the lines of defined muscle as he started the rest of his descent, savoring the warm texture of Sam's skin and the way Sam's breathing shifted and pulsed.

He stopped when he felt Sam's prick brush against his cheek, and leaned into it to hear Sam gasp. It was as perfect as the rest of him, just thick enough and long enough. He'd known one or two guys before that were circumcised, but it was still something of a novelty. When he mouthed up the length of it, Sam groaned. "Don't tease me, my heart can't take it right now."

Steve gave in and slid his mouth around Sam's prick, losing himself in the taste and warmth and scent of his skin. He'd always loved this, more so now that his jaw wouldn't cramp on him, and he sure as hell wouldn't get tired. He closed his eyes and tuned in to Sam, paying attention to each twitch, each gasp, each aborted moan as he started to suck, his head bobbing up and down. His own prick was pressed against his belly and leaking, but even that low ache felt so good right now.

Sam wasn't a talker, but he wasn't a quiet one either. Steve had no problem figuring out what he liked the best by what made the pitch of his voice change, low groans to higher pitched whimpers. Steve let him get close to orgasm twice, then backed off to the sound of Sam groaning in frustration. It was a power that made his chest ache. He could do this for hours, literally. Sam was getting close again, and his voice hitched with something close to a sob and he said one word: "Please."

Steve shuddered and kept going this time. Sam's hand tightened in his hair with just a little bit of a sting, enough to make him want a little more. Sam said, "Steve," as a warning but he took it as a promise and held on until Sam stiffened beneath him. Steve's mouth was flooded with a taste that made him weirdly nostalgic and satisfied at the same time. He brought Sam back down to earth with careful licks and nuzzles.

He let Sam pull him up and bury his face in Steve's neck, rolling to drape his body half on top of him. "Mm. Hope you're not feeling impatient," Sam said. He stretched and wriggled against Steve, who wrapped his arms around Sam's waist.

"After seventy years, what's a little while longer?" he teased, content for the moment to nuzzle against Sam, feeling Sam's racing heart slowing against his chest.

"You trying to guilt trip me, Rogers?" Sam teased back, tilting his head back to smile at him.

"Oh hell no. I'm too busy coming up with ways to bring you back around to the idea." They kissed, slow and warm. Sam surprised him slipping a hand down to touch his still-aching prick.

"I'll tell you a secret," Sam said, tightening his fingers in a slow, maddening slide as he kissed Steve again. "You're not gonna have to work that hard."

Then he pulled away entirely. "Hey Sam, I think that's what's called a mixed message," Steve said, equal parts amused and frustrated.

"Just getting ready for the next act," Sam said, and Steve mentally thumped his forehead. He'd done his part during the war to try and educate (well okay, scare) soldiers into using prophylactics. (There were War Department films he hoped had been burned or at least hidden away so deep that Tony Stark would never find them.) And part of his integration into modern world had been some frank and embarrassing discussions about 'safe sex'. Never mind that Steve's immune system killed any virus or bacteria that got within three feet of him, whatever Sam wanted was what he wanted.

He came back with a foil wrapped strip and a small bottle. "The packaging used to be a lot sexier," Steve said. "Sometimes you'd get a picture of a girl on the front."

"And you know," Sam said, crawling over to him, "maybe later I'll want you to tell me all about that." He knelt over Steve, straddling one of his thighs and leaning down to kiss him. "But not right now." He reached for Steve's prick again, his touch teasingly light. "You still want it?"

Steve tried not squirm. Sam's eyes were dark and half-lidded and resting on his face, and the balance of power had tipped in his favor. He nodded, his eyes flicking to the side when Sam reached for the bottle.

A flash of grin. "Kinda want to hear you say it again. That was hot." He squeezed the bottle against the fingers of his left hand, smearing the clear liquid around with his thumb.

Steve's heart was racing the way it almost never did anymore from simple exertion. He licked his lips and kept his eyes on Sam's face. He barely recognized his own voice, tense with need and coming from a throat gone dry. "Fuck me, Sam. Please."

Sam's eyes slid closed and he shivered. "Mm. Yes." He nudged Steve's knees up and apart, pressing a kiss to the inside of one leg. The hand on Steve's prick kept up its light touch, while Sam slid his other hand down and nudged against the crack of his ass. HIs fingertips were wet and cold but the touch made sparks dance behind Steve's eyes. "You tell me if I go too fast," Sam said, and that was ridiculous, because right now all Steve wanted was everything, anything Sam could give him.

It took all of his willpower and a tight grip on the bedspread not to push down on Sam's finger while he teased him, just dragging back and forth until Steve gritted his teeth and wanted to scream. "Please."

That must have been what Sam was waiting for. He eased one finger into him, slick and slow and not enough but so good. Steve was afraid to move, afraid to lose control and hurt Sam. He had no choice but to hold still and let Sam take over. He could make noise though, and he did. He mewled and cried out, wanting so bad to grind down on Sam's fingers--two now--wanting to be filled. "Please," he said again.

Sam pulled both hands away from him and Steve's eyes flew open with a whimper. Sam was stroking his prick, teeth set in his lower lip. "So ready for you," he murmured. "Already, damn." He tore open one of the innocuous-looking foil packets and rolled the condom on, never once taking his eyes off Steve. Before Steve had time to be impressed (the few times he'd wrestled with them before had been clumsy and awkward), Sam poured more liquid onto himself, and spread it with his hand until he glistened. He scooted forward between Steve's thighs and rubbed against the relaxed opening. With one hand on his prick, Sam leaned over him to keep his eyes on Steve's.

Finally Sam pressed in, again so slow Steve could weep. He arched up carefully and Sam took the hint. Weeks of fighting and working side by side had put them in sync, and it was no different here. They found a rhythm that made Steve's body sing and his prick ache.

"More?" gasped Sam.

"Yes, come on, you won't hurt me."

Sam moved his grip further up the bed, bending Steve in half. Steve was half out of his mind, fighting so hard to keep a little control. Sam had his hands busy for leverage against Steve's body, so Steve wrapped his hand around himself and squeezed, seeing stars and letting out a long, low groan.

Sam dropped lower, his arms framing Steve's face now. "Let go, baby. I got you," he murmured. "I got you."

Steve didn't mean to be quite as loud as he was, but when it came it rocketed from the center of him out, like it was going to burst out of his fingertips, his toes, his hair and not just over his hand and his belly. He arched beneath Sam, crying out until it finally started to subside. Sam followed not long after, leaning down to kiss him between gasps of air.

Eventually Sam slipped from him and he lowered his legs, pulling Sam close on top of him. They kissed lazily until Sam moved away to clean up. He wasn't gone long, and settled right back where he'd been, to Steve's delight.

Sam traced his fingers over Steve's shoulders and arms with a low sound of approval. "Steve Rogers, you are one fine piece of ass," he said, then grinned when Steve laughed.

"I guess it's all right, as bodies go," Steve said. "Yours is better. It's real."

Sam propped his elbow on Steve's chest, hand under his chin. "You can't tell me this isn't real. I just spent a pretty good time examining it."

"You know what I mean," Steve said, suddenly uncomfortable. "I didn't work for this, not like you did."

"You're about the dumbest smart man I've ever seen," Sam said, rolling to the side and pushing up on one hand. "I bet you sacrificed more to get that body than anybody else has. Neither one of us was born looking this fine. We both worked for it."

Steve opened his mouth to argue but Sam stopped him with a kiss. "Shut up, Pinocchio. You're a real boy. Okay?" He paused. "You're not worried I'm just here for a nice set of shoulders, are you?"

Leave it to Sam to put something into words so succinctly.

"Cause if you think that's all there is to you, you really are dumb."

"Well no," Steve admitted. He knew that much, that was easier to accept.

"You are the total package," Sam said, his voice suddenly quiet. "And I'm feeling pretty damn lucky right about now."

#

They stopped getting two motel rooms after that. For the first time since he saw Bucky on the bridge--maybe for the first time since he woke up--Steve thought he could see his place in the here and now. Captain America's place had been obvious. Steve Rogers though, that was different. He didn't know who to be when he wasn't wearing the uniform.

They were having breakfast in another greasy spoon, this time outside of Hartford, their knees bumping companionably beneath the table.

"You never said," Sam started, looking at him over the local paper, "what are you going to say to him if we catch up to him?"

Steve paused with his fork over his plate of eggs. "I don't know. I hadn't got that far."

"I figured you might've had another speech prepared," Sam said, lifting his eyebrows.

"Man, you are never going to believe that I just came up with that, are you?" It was comfortable, sitting here like this, planning out a future, however uncertain. "I used to perform all the time. Kinda got used to talking to a crowd, you know."

"Uh-huh," Sam said. "So what are we doing now, in the meantime?"

There was another potential HYDRA safehouse not far from where they were. After that, they'd find the next thing. And sooner or later they'd catch up to Bucky.

"We get the job done."


End file.
